What a Girl Wants (10 page)

I pick up another item to escape the visual I’ve just encountered. This one is violet. And has little push-up pads.
Maybe that
will help the back pucker . . .

This is the reason women shop. We’re ever hopeful that we’ll get into that dressing room and one particular item will give us the reflection we desire in that mirror. That ungodly three-way mirror.

Trying the purple one on, I focus only on the top half of my body and this one is not bad. I must have it. Even if it sits in my drawer for an eternity. I can tell Arin I did something wild.

Outside the dressing room, I see Nancy Hollings talking to Brea. Nancy was in our high school church teen group. The cheer-leader who was so enthusiastic she had a constant, plastered-on smile. She’s one of those Christians who makes you wonder if she really lives in there. You know, the kind of person who hears some-one’s died and she comes back with the bouncy phrase, “He’s gone to be with the Lord. What a blessing!”

I try to turn back into the dressing room, but it’s too late, she’s seen me. “Ashley!” Nancy has a baby with her, and I can tell it’s upsetting Brea. So I know I must face the music or watch Brea break down publicly. I march over with determination.

“Nancy, how great to see you. Is this your baby?” I ask.

“This is Fitzsimon William Hollings Core.” She holds her baby up like the Lion King on Pride Rock, and I have to admit little Fitz is dreamy. He’s got full, chipmunk cheeks and a toothless grin to die for. “He’s four months old,” Nancy adds.

Four months! Nancy’s stomach is flatter than mine and that alone is enough to make me want to hurt her, but Brea’s expression of nausea gives me even more reason.

“He’s so cute. Congratulations,” I say in monotone, trying not to make much of the baby for Brea’s sake.

“He’s my third. The other two are with their dad today. He took them to the zoo to get them out of my hair.” She lets out a withered sigh. “I’m so glad to see you two. What have you both been up to?” Then she shifts little Fitz onto one hip and grabs my left hand. “Ashley, you’re not married yet?”

“I’ve been working on The Career. I’m a patent attorney.”

“You always were the smart one. But I’m so glad you’re still single! So’s my brother. I’m having him call you. Give me your business card.” She puts the baby back in his stroller. The kid is still grinning. He obviously takes after Mama, happy to a fault.

“Oh, Nancy, I don’t think . . .” But then I see Brea’s ashen face, which hasn’t left the baby. “That sounds like a great idea, why don’t you have Dan call me? Brea and I have a lunch date, so we have to run, but it’s really good to see you again. Really good.” I take out a business card and hand it to Nancy. “Have a great day,” I say with practically a kick of the toe.

I place the violet bra with Brea’s vision of sleaziness and she buys them both. I’ll get lunch, and we’ll get out of here all the quicker. With Brea, I don’t even need to explain. The deal is un-spoken and obvious to both of us.

Brea is struggling not to cry. Her procedure is fresh in her mind. Normally, Brea cannot keep her hands off a new baby, and she didn’t go near little Fitzsimon. This is a crisis that can only be solved with food. We head to the Fountain Creamery for burgers and milk-shakes. It’s the only known antidote for grown-up cheerleaders.

I don’t say anything to Brea. I just order us lots of fat and calories. Suddenly, as we’re waiting for our food, Brea starts to laugh. “You gave her your phone number! You loser! I can’t believe you did that. Do you remember her brother?”

I scowl. “Yes, he was in glee club with me.”

“’Nuff said, huh?”

“I’d rather not discuss it. I’ve been dumped by lesser men than Dan Hollings. It’s the least of my issues. I had to rush my purchase for Nancy Hollings—that’s the real struggle here.” I tap my fore-finger on the table. “I came to buy underwear, and my thought process was rushed. I didn’t even get undies to match.”

“You can take it back. It’s kind of ugly,” Brea says.

I open my mouth to discuss the mesh thong, but decide enough is enough. “I don’t really care if it is ugly. I bought it, and maybe wearing it will give me some new aura.” It’s now two o’clock in the afternoon and I know Cinderella’s glass slipper is in jeopardy. “Does John expect you home?”

Brea’s ready to break down again. “I think I can’t be away from him much longer today. I’m a wreck.”

“I’m going to the beach today, so I’ll drop you off back home as soon as we finish. You need to eat.”

“You’re going to the beach by yourself ?” Brea asks. “That’s kind of sad.”

“Today is the first day of my new life,” I explain. “I’m going to cut my hours back to fifty a week.” My attention is suddenly arrested. “Hey, look over there. You see that guy?”

“The one who looks like Hugh Jackman?” Brea asks.

“Yes, him. I think that’s Arin’s boyfriend. I’ve seen him once or twice at church.” I gaze at him. If Arin has this kind of gorgeous in her back pocket, is there any reason she shouldn’t leave Seth to me? I think not.

“I wonder if he knows where his girlfriend is today,” Brea smirks.

“He’s having lunch with a pretty girl himself. I’m going to ask.” I get up, being the new, pushy broad that I now am, and walk over to this stranger’s table.
He’s a hottie.
I’m trying very hard not to notice because I don’t want to trip over my tongue when I get to the table. But the fact that he has brains is just painful because he’s beyond gorgeous. With his looks, he should be a grunt construction worker, kind of on the level of that Joe Millionaire, a clean-up carpenter. With a tool belt. Yeah.

The table seems miles away and the walk endless because his to-die-for smile is focused on me. I get to the table and stand there like an idiot. I know I had something to say.
Lord, what was it?

“Hi,” Hugh says first.

“Hi, I’m a friend of Arin’s.”
No, no, no. I was supposed to say,
“Are you a friend of Arin’s?”

“Sure, I’ve seen you at church on a few occasions. I’m Kevin Novak.” He stands up and takes my hand. I can barely speak. His green eyes are now hovering somewhere about six inches above my head, and his hand is warm to the touch.
I really need to get a life
. He extracts his hand from mine, which is plastered tightly around his. “And this is my study partner, Joanie Bradley.”

Joanie nods at me. She’s a bit overweight and clearly shy about meeting me. I hold my hand out and use my eyes to tell her I understand. Girls like us don’t usually mingle with handsome doctors, but it’s okay, because he’s taken. She smiles and shakes my hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Arin told me she was having lunch with you and the singles group today,” Hugh/Kevin says.

Actually, she’s flirting with a bald, middle-aged engineer I once
had a crush on, but we won’t focus on that.
Next subject. “I wasn’t up to lunch with the gang, so I bailed. I’m here with my best friend.” I point toward Brea, who is relishing her milkshake and watching the events like they’re playing out for her own private entertainment. “But she’s got to get home.”

“Me too.” Joanie stands up. “Thanks for the help on that brain stem portion. I was lost.” Throwing her napkin on the table she says goodbye and leaves.

I am standing with the Christian Hugh Jackman. Me. Ashley. Even if it’s only momentarily, I want to drink it in, so that some-day I can tell my nieces and nephews that I did come in contact with greatness once.

“We’ve got a big test coming up,” he explains. “I’ve been studying constantly.”

“So I’ve heard. What kind of medicine are you studying?”

“Pediatric surgery. That’s why I’m at Stanford; I want to work at the Lucille Salter Children’s Hospital.”

Sigh. Okay, so not fair. Men who look like this do not have a right to be decent human beings. He should be the pig I want him to be, that everyone
expects
him to be.

Why on earth is his girlfriend flirting with Seth Greenwood? Is she blind? Deaf ? Stupid? All three? I just want to rail on God a bit for putting such a lack of intelligence into that little figure. I like Arin, but she’s rapidly grating on my nerves.

“That sounds like challenging work, Kevin. Congratulations, it’s not many men that pick pediatrics anymore.”

“How did you know that?”

Oh my, how do I tell him I read it in
People
or something equally
benign?
I decide to just shrug it off. “Well, I should get back to Brea. I need to drop her back home before I go to the beach.”

“You’re going to the beach? You know, I’ve been here at Stanford for a year, and I’ve never ventured over to the beach since I arrived.”

“You haven’t been to the beach?” Okay, that’s a little weird. “Your girlfriend made me promise her I’d do something wild. I’m afraid that’s as racy as it gets for me. Going to the beach by myself with my convertible’s top down. I have to go home to take it off. My top, I mean. The convertible’s top.” I laugh, a little too loudly.
I am a geek. Do I have to announce it?

“You want some company?”

Okay, breathe. Take a breath.
Was I not just lambasting Arin for flirting with Seth? Would I dare take her boyfriend to the beach? No, the new Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale lives by faith, not by selfish desires.

“I’m not sure what Arin would think of that.”

“Let’s call her and ask.” Kevin takes out a cell phone and dials his girlfriend. I swallow hard and try to remain calm, but my foot is tapping out my restless energy.

I am setting myself up for failure. And Brea is watching the entire fiasco while sucking down a milkshake. That’s as good as having it on video because she will replay it and replay it and replay it. Tivo has nothing on Brea.

10

M
ust I remind myself that this is
my
life, not a romantic lead’s on the silver screen? I am not Julia Roberts. I am not Meg Ryan. My brief moment with greatness was briefer than I’d hoped. After Kevin called Arin, she suddenly needed help moving furniture. He ran over there like an engineer to morning espresso.

I had no intentions of actually going anywhere with Kevin, anyway. This is the new Ashley. The upstanding, non-workaholic Ashley. Still, Brea tried to pick up my shattered pieces off the Fountain Creamery’s floor. It was just the realization of being “ditched” by two guys for the same woman in the same day. New realm of pathetic.

Granted, maybe my motives weren’t exactly godly in my desire for company, but I still want to stamp my feet like a toddler. Why, when the men outnumber the women here in Silicon Valley, do they all want one in particular? Can’t they share the wealth?

While Kevin was schlepping Arin’s furniture, Seth was probably home strategizing his next move for Arin’s heart—a game of romantic chess in which I am the pawn.

Since I feel no compunction whatsoever to keep a promise to the bubbly blonde who has coaxed all of the male species into her lair, I nix the idea of the beach alone. Now I don’t blame Arin. She can’t help it that men fall at her feet, but I don’t have to delude myself that a trip to the ocean will suddenly make me a wanton goddess, either.

I watch
Masterpiece Theatre’s The Forsyte Saga
on videotape, and wallow in my present misery. I cry out for sexy Soames Forsyte and his delicious red hair pining after stupid Irene who doesn’t want him. Doesn’t she get it? Soames is ever faithful—he just has a little control issue. Some women wouldn’t know a good man if he bit them.

Monday morning comes finally! I walk into work, ecstatic to be there, and throw myself into something I understand—because the game of love is far too complicated for my simple mind. Purvi is already at her desk. That means my desk is now covered with what she’s been doing all morning, and I will not accomplish anything on my own daily agenda until after six p.m. It’s going to be a late night. But I’m here, and I won’t have to think about my non-existent love life for five whole days.

Purvi sees me and puts her coffee cup down with a clunk. “Ashley, I’m glad you’re finally here.”
Finally? It’s eight a.m.
“I need you to go to Taiwan next week.”

Like my life is not bad enough here in Silicon Valley . . . I should definitely get sent to a third-world, earthquake-prone country with bad food, where I’m six inches taller than all of the men, just to really make my pitiful existence complete.

“Good morning, Purvi,” I say, hoping to put off the Taiwan talk until my first cup of java. “How was your weekend?”

Plan diverted.
“We’re suing for patent infringement,” Purvi explains.

“Patent infringement?” I rub my hands together. “I get to defend a patent?” It’s every patent lawyer’s dream to defend a patent, well, a solidly-written one, anyway. A patent is not truly yours until it’s been defended in court, and this is my chance to make history. To ensure my name will be on the record books for-ever and my name on the payroll for another year.

I know it’s my chance to shine, but thinking about the bad food gets the best of me. Here in California, we have organic free-range chicken rather than ducks browned and glossed, hanging in shop windows with heads still attached. I will never understand the Asian mindset of looking into the eye of something you’re eating. Fleeting thoughts of vegetarianism often come to mind during my business trips.

To say nothing of those earthquakes. It’s like a bad dream, traveling elsewhere on the Pacific Rim. Sure, I may live in earthquake country now, but we have these things here called building codes. Our hotels won’t fall flat like a stack of sesame pancakes when the Big One hits. All those pictures of earthquakes of yester-year and their aftermath will roll through my mind in slide form while I’m trying to sleep in a stinky Taiwan hotel, making me thankful I have eternal life—in case I screw this one up and end it with business travel . . .

“Purvi, do you think this patent is important enough for news-paper coverage?”
Translation: Will I be able to single-handedly save
our free market with this trip? Will Seth read about my wondrous acts
of valor and be sorry? Will Hugh/Kevin leave Arin because he will only
have eyes for me?